


beauteous wonder of a different kind

by thecrackshiplollipop



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrackshiplollipop/pseuds/thecrackshiplollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter spent a year of her life not looking too far into the future. In her experience, it only made things worse, only made it hurt more when she lost. That is, until, she meets Angela Martinelli at a diner in New York and falls in love with her. All of a sudden, the future is something for Peggy to look forward to again.</p><p>And then one day, three-and-a-half years after they've moved into Howard Stark’s love nest, Angie mentions <em>children</em>.</p><p>Happy birthday, Ashleigh! I know it's late, BUT NOT A MONTH LATE. Hah! <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratherembarrassing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherembarrassing/gifts).



It’s a hazy summer Sunday, the bustle of city life has come to a standstill; people stuck between overheated homes without power and the heat-hazy stench of the outside. As luck would have it, both Angie and Peggy have had the whole day off. It’s precious, blissful time that really only comes to them in the summer. Time for eating homemade icebox pies and lying around in nothing but their slips listening to music and catching up on reading that isn't related to work. The power only flickers while the pies set up, and, as they are wont to do on their days off, they’re spending the hours of waiting lounging on the living room couch, lazy and sated after rather spontaneous post-baking sex in the kitchen. (Peggy’s certain there’s chocolate smeared somewhere on both of their bodies.)

Angie’s legs are draped across Peggy’s lap and she would mind - the heat is absolutely stifling with the windows drawn - but Angie is humming along to the tinny jazz number drifting from the radio and Peggy’s heart goes all soft with married contentment.

The song fades, Angie continues to hum along, and an advertisement for Johnson’s baby powder comes on.

"Have you ever thought of having kids?" Angie says suddenly, cutting over the next commercial about hair pomade. Though her tone is light, the forced casual look on her face betrays the fact that she’s been thinking on the question for days.

"I…" Peggy furrows her brows and purses her lips. "At one point, of course. But now… with a wife, there are some technical issues in achieving said result." She says it with a lazy chuckle, stroking Angie’s bare knee for added emphasis.

"There _are_ ways around that,” Angie says, sliding her legs off of Peggy’s lap so she can sit up properly.

“Adoption? No,” Peggy shakes her head, “a single woman would never be able to adopt a child.”

"I _mean_ ," Angie worries her bottom lip between her teeth. Peggy watches her carefully, the seriousness of the moment finally settling through the layers of heat and sex induced fatigue. "I’ve heard of certain ladies who have a baby and they… raise it with another lady."

"That’s unconventional," Peggy says thoughtfully, wondering mildly how this idea got into Angie’s mind in the first place.

"English, we’re not really the conventional type of couple.” She tilts her head and raises her brows. “See, there’s this girl at the theatre, Betsy DeBlasio. She got herself in the family way and instead of marryin’ the guy, she just… moved in with her friend.” Angie bobs her head a few times for emphasis and Peggy can’t help but laugh.

“Are you certain they’re not _just_ friends?”

“Of course I am! They live in the West Village. She says nobody treats ‘em like social… what’s the word, pariahs. No one treats ‘em like pariahs.”

"Are you suggesting…"

"I dunno," Angie shrugs, looking down at her toes. "It’s not a bad thing to think about, though. You know, us… with a kid."

Angie isn’t wrong. They’ve been together for a few good years now. Peggy’s job has changed drastically, but in a good way, and Angie finally got a call back on a big new show. Things are settled between them, they’re finally comfortable with the nice normality of coming home to one another. And though Stark’s mansion is lovely, with all its six rooms they’ve noticed how cavernous their home feels when it’s just the two of them.

Perhaps Peggy has never truly envisioned herself as being with child… but, she can see herself being a mother. She imagines a baby with round cheeks, Angie’s eyes, and her larger than life smile. In an instant, she feels like everything she's known has been turned on its side.

Peggy takes a deep breath, holding onto the image for a moment longer. “We could…”

"We could?"

"I mean," Peggy tilts her head to look at Angie on the other side of the couch, "it is a nice idea, Angie. We should think about it more.”

"Oh Peggy," Angie’s face lights up and she moves onto Peggy’s lap, gently cupping Peggy’s jaw in her hands. Angie looks at Peggy for a moment, her face beautifully unmade, her eyes bright and sincere, her cheeks flushed from the still heat of the afternoon. She sighs and presses her mouth to Peggy’s, kissing her soft and slow. Everything is better when they have no reason to rush. Peggy runs her hands up Angie’s thighs under her slip, kissing her back with a sigh of contentment. The knowledge that their life might change drastically is there, but Peggy can’t be bothered to give it much thought, between the heat of the room and the heat between Angie’s legs, she has plenty to focus on in the present. The what-ifs can wait until after the pies are ready.

* * *

 

“So, English,” Angie says as she falls across the foot of their bed still naked from their bath together. Peggy’s propped up against the headboard, not really reading the file she has in her hands. Her hair is wrapped in a towel and she never quite got around to putting on her dressing gown, the silky dark blue material draped uselessly across her knees whilst she stays as naked as Angie. The summer is fading quickly and once again Angie will miss the nights when they could stay naked in bed. She’ll miss the silken warmth of Peggy’s naked skin against her own, the simple pleasure of waking up next to her with the morning light spilling across her bare skin. Angie sighs and nudges Peggy’s foot when she takes too long to respond.

“Mm?”

“Where are you, tonight? France? Or Italy?” Angie rolls onto her side, wet hair sticking to her shoulders.

“Oh,” Peggy sighs, dropping her file onto the mattress. It’s a big one, so it falls with a definite thump that makes Peggy frown. “It’s not the case. I mean, it sort of is. It’s the organisation.”

“What’s it called again?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division,” Peggy rattles off robotically. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is easier.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Angie rolls her eyes, “why don’t you forget about saving the country for a night, since I managed to get away from the theatre early and all.”

“Hm,” Peggy taps her chin and purses her lips, “what did you have in mind? Cards?”

“Well,” Angie says thoughtfully, moving up the bed so she’s kneeling next to Peggy, “I have one idea.”

“Oh?” Peggy says, keeping her tone neutral, but completely incapable of keeping the blush from rising in her cheeks.

“Remember a few months back, when we had that real bad heatwave and we made icebox pies to cool off?”

“Mm, of course,” Peggy smiles, the memory coming back easily - particularly, she remembers licking chocolate syrup from Angie’s stomach.

“Well,” Angie says, slipping her leg over Peggy’s lap so she’s straddling her thighs. Peggy makes a small strangled noise, but Angie maintains a look of total nonchalance. “We never did get around to talking about having a baby.”

“Oh Angie,” Peggy says, her voice a mix of annoyance and arousal. Angie bites her lip to hide her smile, “I suppose…” Peggy places her hands on Angie’s thighs, pressing into the skin with her fingers. Angie’s composure wavers as a jolt of excitement travels outwards from where Peggy is touching her. “I have thought about it a lot.”

“Yeah?” Angie swallows as Peggy’s hands advance up her thighs a little more.

“Yes,” Peggy says softly, stroking the skin of Angie’s inner thigh with her thumbs.

“And?” Angie’s voice is tense with two different sorts of excitement warring in her head. Peggy worries her upper lip between her teeth, watching the movement of her thumbs.

“I think… it’s something we should look into,” Peggy finally says, looking up into Angie’s face in the same totally unguarded way as when she says ‘I love you’. Angie’s resolve crumbles and she pitches forward, capturing Peggy’s lips in a shaky kiss.

“English,” Angie mumbles against Peggy’s mouth, “you’re not kidding?” Angie leans back just a little, her hands resting on Peggy’s shoulders while Peggy is still firmly gripping her thighs.

“No, darling. I’m not.” Peggy smiles, running her hands up to Angie’s hips and pulling her closer, “but can we save the logistics for later? I would really like to pick up where we left off in the bath tub.”

“That was my idea the whole time, Pegs.” Angie says, rolling her eyes as she dips down to kiss Peggy again.

* * *

 

“I never thought I’d actually have kids,” Angie says, blowing on a spoonful of sauce, “taste this.” Peggy tastes the sauce obligingly, eyelashes fluttering with pleasure so all she can do is let out a little ‘mm’ of approval. Angie makes a face, “needs salt.” She puts the spoon back in the pot and grabs the salt cannister.

“This is why you’re the cook, I suppose.” Peggy sighs, leans back against the counter and tilts her head. “I find it hard to believe, seeing as you brought up the topic of children. Why didn’t you think you’d ever have any?”

“I dunno,” Angie shrugs, “it’s hard enough to support yourself as an actress these days. Two regular broads with a baby? Kids are great and all, but… that just sounds like a life of struggle and poverty. I wouldn’t want to live like that, so why make a kid suffer?” Angie shrugs, adds a dash of salt to the sauce, and stirs.  

“And what makes it so different with me?” Angie can hear the smile in Peggy’s voice, a flush creeps into her cheeks and she bites her lip.

“Well,” she turns away from the stove, rubbing her steam-reddened hands on her apron. “I mean, c’mon English. You have a real job. We have this house.” Angie motions to the kitchen, gloriously appointed, with space for Angela, Peggy, Angela’s mother, and Angela’s three tittering sisters-in-law. “You’re so... steady,” Angie’s brows pinch together and she looks at the ground, trying to work out exactly what she needs to say, “and… truth is… I never thought I’d actually love someone enough to want children with them, complications and all.”

“Angie...” Peggy breathes, taking Angie’s hands in her own. Angie loves the way Peggy says her name, savouring the sound of it even as she ploughs ahead.

“I mean, when I thought about it before - before we talked about it, I mean - I always just assumed you’d had this big life plan... one that involved marriage and kids and a big ol’ house with Captain Ameri-” Angie looks up sharply, grimacing with immediate regret. “Pegs-”

“It’s alright, Angie,” Peggy says softly, letting go of Angie’s hands so she can cup her face. “It’s been four years, and I’m thinking about having children with you, not him. Darling,” Peggy steps closer, her thumbs brushing the warm skin of Angie’s cheeks, her expression as soft and loving as ever. “Steve Rogers will always be with me, in my memory and in my heart, but Angie... you’re the person I intend on spending the rest of my life with.”

“Oh god. Always so good with the words, English.” Angie’s breath catches as her vision blurs with tears. “There’s nothin’ regular about you, Peggy, nothin’ regular at all.” The words come out a little choked as she lets Peggy pull her into an embrace.

* * *

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Angie says, swiping her hand through the air as they step into the courtyard of Stark’s country estate. Peggy frowns at the lack of a waiting motorcar, but then realises that Jarvis is giving them time to… discuss matters before driving back to Manhattan.

“Angie,” Peggy sighs, “did you think he would have another idea?”  
“I’d hoped.” Angie says with a scowl.

“In his defence he did offer an alternative solution.”

“Artificial insemination? Sounds like science fiction! Something Isaac Asimov dreamed up.”

“I don’t think Mr Asimov has much stock in non-traditional reproductive methods,” Peggy says, tilting her head with an indulgent, gentle smile. Angie huffs, hikes up the collar of her jacket, and stares pointedly at the drive like Stark’s town car will magically appear. “Angie, come on. We agreed that Howard would be the donor-”

“Yeah, but-”

“And we agreed that, with your current career trajectory, I would be the one to carry. Job security... job anonymity, at that.”

“Yeah-”

“And since involving a physician makes the… less intimate procedure out of the question, this is our only route.”

“Then maybe we don’t have a baby,” Angie says quickly, turning fully to face Peggy’s profile. Peggy purses her lips and glances sideways at her.

“We could do that, Angie. If that’s really what you want.”

“Oh,” Angie frowns, “what do you want?”

“Me?” Peggy blinks, a cold autumn breeze sifts through the trees surrounding Howard’s property. Angie shivers, tightens her coat around her frame and watches Peggy turn the question over in her head. “I wasn’t lying the other day when I said I want children with you. But if all of this makes you too uncomfortable,” she inhales slowly, exhaling before moving on, “then we can move on. Really.”

“It won’t be terrible, will it?”

“What, the sex? I imagine, if anything, it will be horribly awkward. I’ve never even thought of seeing Howard Stark naked, let alone-”

“Oh my god,” Angie covers her face with her hands and Peggy bursts into laughter, covering her face to smother the noise of it.

“Oh Angie,” Peggy says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye delicately as not to mess her make up. “Goodness, what will we do with you once we get down to business?”

“Just hold my hand and it’ll be fine,” Angie says faintly, relieved at the sight of Jarvis pulling around the curve of the house in Howard’s sleek black town car. “Oh thank goodness.” Peggy gives Angie’s arm a quick squeeze before the car pulls in front of them, and then Jarvis is hopping out, chattering on about how Mrs Jarvis insisted on packing sandwiches for the ride home.

“She says that mothers should have plenty to eat.”

“But we’re not-”

“You will be,” Jarvis says, a smile stretching his long face in such a kind way that Angie actually leans up and kisses his cheek before ducking inside the back seat of the car.

“Oh hey, Pegs, there’re those cucumber ones like you like!”

Peggy smiles, mouthing ‘thank you’ to Jarvis before turning to the open door. “Well, Angie,” she says, stepping into the cab, “seeing as I’ll be eating all the cucumber, what’s in there for you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation Baby is a-go.

They have a month of waiting whilst Howard settles some out-of-country affairs. Which, is actually a good thing, since both of their jobs go from routine to completely hectic straight away. Angie’s show moves into workshop, finally, and Peggy ends up embroiled in some national security scandal that keeps her at the office past 8 o’clock every night for a week. It’s a brutal schedule, but it’s exactly what they need to keep their minds on the present, rather than what’s going to happen when Howard gets back.

Well, _almost_.

Before leaving, Howard had sent Jarvis over with some articles written by his _friends_ in the field of reproduction. Angie had sat up on her rehearsal breaks, poring over the materials in a corner of the dressing room, cheeks scalding with some of the more lurid texts. It was practically impossible not to laugh at the articles that seem to lack basic understanding of how women’s bodies work. She’d always share the interesting ones with Peggy, who brought her work home more often than not and was always up for a reason to put aside a report.

“Pegs,” Angie says one evening while they’re sitting in the living room, Angie with those hilariously embarrassing articles, Peggy with some thick report from work. The radio is on in the background, tuned to a broadcast of an Italian opera to help Peggy focus.

“Mm?” Peggy doesn’t even look up from the paper, too engrossed in some troubling detail to give Angie her full attention.

“I just read something you’ll find interesting,” Angie’s tone is all teasing and warm, sweet like honey. Peggy looks up just as Angie starts untucking the tails of her blouse from her skirt.

“What- what are you doing?” Peggy’s cheeks flush with colour and Angie grins, slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse. It’s the slow kind of strip tease that always drives Peggy to the edge and leaves Angie with too many buttons to sew back onto her clothes. “Angie-” Peggy’s voice catches as Angie undoes a button and her blouse opens enough to expose the soft flushed skin of her chest.

“Like I said, you’ll find this interesting.” Her voice is still dripping with insinuation, and Peggy leans forward, barely breathing in anticipation. “This article that Howard gave me says that women lookin’ to get artificially inseminated should have lots of regular sex.” One button. “Says it could possibly increase fertility and the likelihood of conception.” One more button down and all Angie has left are the last two buttons keeping the blouse on her body. But Peggy is, as always, too impatient for that nonsense and lunges to meet Angie, fingers tugging the blouse open so the last two buttons come off with a satisfying pop of the threads. Angie laughs and pulls Peggy down on top of her.

“I think we should test that theory,” Peggy says in a breathless, predatory way.

“But, I’m not the one gettin’ pregnant!” Angie says as Peggy tugs down the pull of her skirt zipper.

“Not yet,” Peggy says lightly, pressing a kiss to Angie’s neck, “but maybe eventually,” another kiss, this time just below Angie’s clavicle, “and we wouldn’t want you to be undersexed in the interim, would we?”

“Oh,” Angie moans as Peggy pulls down the satiny fabric of her brassier, “no...no… we wouldn’t want that at all.” Peggy chuckles and presses her mouth to Angie’s breast, all thoughts of artificial insemination and pregnancy out the window, just for the night.

Turns out, they don’t have any trouble making time in their exhausting month-long sprint for that. They make space; the sweet moments at night when the house is quiet and settled, Angie brushing back the hair from Peggy’s face and kissing her in a way that stops all small talk for the evening. The stolen long lunches, Angie’s back up against the washroom door of a fancy hotel near Peggy’s office. Sundays where they never leave the house, eat dinner on the couch, and make love on every flat surface they can make it to.

When Howard arrives back in America, he sends Jarvis over with a lavish pre-prepared meal, a bottle of expensive red wine, and a little note to call him on _Day One._

“What ever could that mean,” Jarvis asks lightly, puttering around the kitchen as he gets the meal ready. Peggy is reading a file at the counter, Angie sitting next to her snacking on some table olives Jarvis brought. She’s taking full advantage of watching someone else prepare a meal, something she hasn’t done since she was old enough to hold a wooden spoon, and even though Jarvis is doing everything totally wrong, she’s quite content to sit, eat olives, and relax.

“What do you mean, Jarvis?” Angie asks when Peggy doesn’t even look up from the file.

“The note Mr Stark sent, of course.” He sniffs the cheese he just opened and nods before sprinkling it over the lasagne.

“Day one is when Peggy’s cycle has started,” Angie says simply, popping another olive into her mouth. Jarvis’ back goes rigid, but it’s the only indication he’s taken aback by what Angie said.

“Well, good. Glad Operation Baby is underway.”

Peggy looks up at that, a gentle smile on her face that makes Angie’s stomach turn to butterflies. “ _Operation Baby?_ ”

“Bit of a code name I’m working on. It’s much easier than calling it the, ah,” Angie watches a creeping red blush stain Jarvis’ neck and ears and she has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing, “well, you see the problem,” he says, taking the dish to the oven.

“Oh good grief, you English folk are so uptight,” Angie shakes her head, “how you guys conquered the world with that stiff upper lip is a mystery to me.”

“I beg your pardon,” Peggy says, affronted, but there’s laughter in her eyes and Angie just grins, plucking another olive from the dish.

* * *

 

The morning of the 11th of November, 1949, starts off with Peggy gently shaking Angie from sleep. The sun hasn’t even risen, but the city is already dusting itself off, noises leaking in through the tall windows of their bedroom. 

“Mm,” Angie stifles a yawn with the back of her hand, “whasa matter?”

“Day one, Angie. I’ve just phoned and, well, spoke with Mrs Jarvis, but she promised she’ll get the word along.”

Angie’s eyes pop open and she props herself up, a mighty yawn scrambling her speech, “Operation Baby’s a go?”

“Yes,” Peggy laughs. “Operation Baby is a go.”

“I guess that rules out my annual _‘thank you for serving our country’_ present?” Angie raises her brows, a sly little grin on her face.

“Doesn’t seem very fair, I’m still very much a veteran,” Peggy raises her brows and Angie laughs.

“C’mon soldier, we’ve got two more hours before either of us has to be awake and I, for one, would like some more sleep.”

“How thoroughly romantic you are,” Peggy tuts, but crawls into the warm space she’d left a little while earlier, "I'll have to remember that for later." She says against Angie’s bare shoulder, kissing her there before before settling back into sleep.

* * *

 

On the 22nd of November, Howard shows up to the house with a bottle of wine and a small valise.

“You’re not staying the night, are you?” Peggy asks before the door is even open. She’s standing barefoot, still in her rumpled work clothes, eyeing Howard’s valise suspiciously.

“Jarvis packed it just in case,” Howard shrugs and steps past Peggy into the apartment. “Hey, that smells nice. Is Angie cooking?”

“She does that when she’s nervous. I hope you came hungry.”

“Sex always makes me hungry, Pegs.” Howard realises a beat too late how dumb that was to say and grimaces at the shocked expression on Peggy’s face. He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously and tries to shrug it off. “Let’s see what that marvelous woman of yours has gotten up to in the kitchen.” He scuttles away from Peggy without looking at her, fairly certain her face has fallen into the sort of look that could melt his flesh.

* * *

 

“That really was amazing Angie,” Howard says, taking a plate from Angie and drying it with a towel.

“Thanks, Howard,” Angie says lightly, buoyant from all the good wine and food, that mother-like contented feeling that really only comes from cooking for people she cares about.

“Oh what, no Daddy Warbucks?” He hangs the drying towel from a hook on the cabinet and crosses his arms over his chest, face lit up with a good natured smile. Angie thinks, looking at him being casual in their kitchen, that the domestic touch looks good on him - sleeves rolled up, a bit of water splashed across his blue shirt, his cheeks all red with a flush of genuine happiness. She shakes her head and sighs.

“I figured with what we’re about to do,” she pulls the plug on the sink, pausing as the water chugs noisily down the drain. “Nicknames aren’t really appropriate.” At that, Peggy laughs from her place at the counter, the sound of a page accompanying it. Angie turns to face her, their eyes catching and their smiles brightening at the contact. For a moment Howard’s presence flutters out of the open kitchen window and in that space, for a beat, it’s just Peggy and her. But then Howard makes some noise in the back of his throat, shattering the illusion, and Angie feels herself go pink all the way to the tips of her ears.

There's a slight shift in the atmosphere of the room. Peggy softly closes the file she was reviewing, sitting at the counter like a child might, bare feet swinging free from the stool rungs. Howard stands straight and shoves his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t trust them out there on their own. And Angie... Angie feels a little bubble of hysterical laughter rising in her chest from how utterly ridiculous they all look, making their best efforts to avoid eye contact with each other. She realises suddenly that both Howard and Peggy are too paralysed with discomfort to make the move and her upbringing pushes her into taking charge. “Well, let’s get the show started - that baby ain’t gonna make itself!” It all comes out in a gasp of air and a nervous, tittering laugh that makes her feel slightly hysterical.

But at least it does the trick.

Howard chuckles, his shoulders relaxing as a bit of the tension flees the room, and heads out of the kitchen towards the living room for his valise. Peggy slips off her stool and reaches out, taking hold of Angie’s hand tightly before they both follow Howard’s lead. Angie thinks it’s almost like a funeral procession, although she can’t imagine what about it’s making her feel so sad. She flexes her fingers around Peggy’s and steels herself, resolving to save the psychoanalysis for later.

* * *

 

Angie doesn’t want to think about the room they’re in. It’s not their bedroom, it’s cold and impersonal, with its lacquered furniture and white painted walls. That’s the point, really, a neutral environment. She shakes off the sick feeling and glances at Peggy, who is looking at her with those half-lidded eyes and that kiss-bruised mouth. She has far more important matters at hand than to think about the room they’re in. She settles between Peggy’s legs, hands painting rivers from her bare breasts and over her belly. Angie imagines her with child, the swell of her stomach, and  she lets out a little huff of delight, fixing the image in her mind. She kisses all the way up the soft skin of Peggy’s inner thigh, light and airy, breath-like kisses. Peggy lets out this little noise of anticipation and Angie laughs, a bit cocky, and bites the skin over Peggy’s hip.

“Don’t be so cruel,” Peggy groans, twisting her hips in frustration. Angie tuts softly and shifts her attention to Peggy’s other thigh, trailing kisses - this time hot, insistent, suggestive of how little restraint Angie has left. Peggy whines - Angie loves how extraordinarily impatient she can be - and Angie swats her hip gently. It’s a bit cruel, it’s been a day full of teasing touches and promises, but Howard… Angie shakes her head. This isn’t for him. Peggy is wet already, she has been since they started, and Angie has to bite back a moan when she spreads the lips of Peggy’s sex. Peggy lifts her hips as Angie dips her mouth down, her tongue curling immediately over Peggy’s most sensitive part.

“Oh god,” Peggy moans, thighs tensing on either side of Angie’s head. Angie smirks and slides two fingers inside her, making her hips jerk and her muscles clench. Angie reaches her free hand up Peggy’s torso and covers her breast with her palm. Peggy lets out a little noise, high pitched like a whine and Angie hums with pleasure.

All the tension from a few moments earlier dissolves as Angie works Peggy over, easing every ounce of pleasure out of her that she can. Peggy grips the sheets, digs her heels into the mattress, arching her body up against Angie’s mouth, her fingers. Angie’s rhythm is slow, torturous, her tongue drawing circles around Peggy’s clit, her fingers curling inside her in lazy, long strokes.

“Angie please,” Peggy pants, desperately lifting her hips against Angie’s mouth, “I need-”

Angie knows exactly what Peggy needs and moves her fingers faster, applying the right amount of pressure with her tongue. It’s the quick and dirty way of doing things, reminding Angie of the past month full of quickies in bathrooms and locked offices. She smiles, curls her fingers just right, and Peggy lets out a groan and rolls her hips against the new sensation. A few more deft strokes of Angie’s tongue and Peggy snaps like a taut string, spasming around Angie’s fingers as she struggles to keep from screaming. Angie likes it when she screams, though, and keeps stroking that rough spot inside Peggy until she lets out a sputtering shout and practically twists her body away from Angie’s insistent mouth and fingers.

“Bloody hell,” Peggy says shakily as Angie wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She moves up the bed so she’s kneeling next to Peggy, feeling totally smug as she looks over Peggy’s flushed, sweat-sheened body. “Oh, don’t look so proud,” Peggy huffs, “ I’ve been thinking about that all day.” Angie just laughs because Peggy’s voice is still so unsteady, and leans over to kiss the tip of Peggy’s nose. And then, reluctantly, she eases herself off of the bed, retying the sash of her dressing gown. “Where are you off to?”

“Howard?”

“Oh,” Peggy rolls her eyes, “right, forgot about that.”

“I guess I really _do_  have a reason to be proud,” Angie laughs, even though anxiousness is already creeping back to the foreground of her consciousness.

Angie kisses Peggy quickly before leaving to fetch Howard from his room. When they come back, Peggy is sitting on the edge of the bed in her dressing gown, composure regained, even though her face is flushed and there are marks on her neck from where Angie’s mouth had been. Howard is following Angie sort of like a duckling dressed in a silky red robe. His hair is damp and limp against his forehead, like he took a shower, and Peggy can’t help but feel a little touched by the gesture.

Angie sits next to Peggy, trying to communicate her discomfort through a gentle touch of her hand, and Howard just sort of stands there in his nice socks and his robe, looking at anything but the two of them as the silence stretches on.

“Well, this is awkward,” Howard says with a chuckle, hoping to defuse some of the discomfort in the room. Not really thinking, he rubs his moustache, letting go of his robe so it hangs open just a little.

Angie can’t help herself. “So that's what a-” She doesn’t really point, but her gaze is fixed on Howard’s naked particulars through the gap in his robe.

“Er-” Howard actually blushes and draws the gap in his robe closed.

“No, oh Howard. It's okay.” Angie says quickly, grimacing in apology. “I've just never seen… well,” she bites her lip and motions helplessly.

“Oh god,” Howard rubs his face with his hands so his robe falls open, once again attracting Angie’s curiosity, “can we please do the anatomy lesson another time?”

Angie closes her mouth, reluctantly, because she does want to know… everything, really. It’s something that Peggy enjoys and, well, if she can’t enjoy it, too, she’d like to know as much about it as possible. Angie feels herself staring, questions right there on her tongue, but before she can open her mouth to say anything Peggy's hand is on her shoulder and her lips are next to Angie's ear. "I'll tell you all about it later, dear."

Howard slips into the adjoining washroom to, in his words, ‘prepare’, but Peggy’s barely settled under the covers with her dressing gown off when he slips back out, looking sheepish and clutching his robe closed with both hands.

“Typical,” Peggy mutters, dropping the bed sheet over her chest.

Angie tosses the pillows that Peggy’s not using off of the bed and crawls into place up against the headboard. She trains her attention on Peggy; her lovely face, the way her brushed out curls fan out over the pillow, the pink glow in her cheeks that Angie put there. Peggy offers Angie a tight smile and Angie tries to find it in herself to return the gesture, but her acting skills always fail her at the most inopportune moments and she just feels herself grimace. The bed dips and Angie’s attention switches to Howard, robeless, pulling up the sheet to get into the bed. He gives Angie this strange look before shifting under the sheets and then settling on top of Peggy.

She desperately does not want to watch but at the same time she can't do that to Peggy, abandon her like that. She bites her lip, twists her hands in her lap, and tries not to let her apprehension and concern write itself on her face.

Howard runs his fingers down Peggy’s cheek, a soft and loving gesture that makes Angie’s stomach twists itself into knots. Jealousy roars in her ears and she feels desperately helpless. He kisses Peggy with the kind of rough forcefulness that’s almost predictable, and Angie thinks to herself, you’re doing it wrong! Maybe Peggy gives off this impression of being tough as leather, but the truth is, in the private moments of her life, Peggy likes to be treated with a gentle delicateness that is almost maddening. Angie knows how to kiss her just right, soft mouth, light and kind - unless, of course, it’s heated and passionate. But this moment, Howard’s narrow, masculine body on top of hers, is neither heated nor passionate. It’s all wrong. She feels herself go all red and embarrassed and keeps reminding herself it means nothing.

It’s just, kissing wasn’t part of the deal. But they had asked for this, for Howard and his _genetics_ , and this was the means to the end. Angie realises, far too belatedly, that they hadn’t quite processed how truly difficult this would be.

Feeling shamefully selfish, she focuses back to what's happening next to her, tries to look just at Peggy’s face. Only, it’s not that simple with Howard’s hovering so close. The bed sheet has slipped down Howard’s back, settling just above his hips, and Angie feels a perverse sort of arousal at the sight of Peggy’s bare chest, her pale skin flushed from neck to sternum, her dark pink nipples taught. Her mouth was just there moments earlier, but it feels like there's an ocean between then and now. She watches as Howard slips a hand beneath the sheet, between their bodies, and realises he must be positioning himself. She feels a little tremor of panic, that it’s all going too fast, but then he groans and Peggy inhales sharply and Angie knows he's inside of her.

It takes all of Angie’s willpower to stay where she is, since all she wants to do is push Howard off of the bed. She feels completely stupid, sitting there while Howard is on top of Peggy. She tries to look reassuring, but Peggy is making some of the noises that she makes for Angie and Angie's not even sure what she's feeling anymore. But then it's over, almost as quickly as it started. Howard makes this strained noise, his hips jerking under the sheet, and Peggy lets out a little yelp of shock, her grip on Angie's hand tightening.

When it’s all said and done, Angie’s not sure who is more uncomfortable out of the three of them. Howard slowly eases off of Peggy and then promptly gets out of bed. He pulls his robe back on with his back to them, reminding Peggy to stay put for ten or twenty minutes, before he hurries back to the room where his clothes are. Neither of them say anything to Howard before he leaves, and they both feel their own sort of guilty about it. Angie is tired, but anxious to get out of the room and into their own bed. They wait in a heavy silence, Peggy still naked beneath the sheet that now covers her whole body, Angie still holding onto Peggy’s hand like it’s her anchor to reality.

When they get back to their bedroom twenty minutes later, Howard has already left. No goodbye, nothing to let them know he's left except for the sound of the front door closing and the soft click of his key as he engages the lock. It's better that way, Angie feels like one raw nerve, and she's fairly certain she'd clock Howard if given the chance. Peggy slips into the washroom and Angie move around the room, turning off all the lights except for her bedside lamp, before she settles into bed. Peggy comes out of the bathroom looking as worn out as Angie feels and once she’s tucked beneath the sheets, Angie clicks off the light. The only light in the room is from outside, orangey yellow from the street lamps. A band of light falls across their bed, lighting perfectly on Peggy's profile.

The same silence that followed after Howard left still hangs in the air, but now it's thick with all of the things Angie hadn’t planned on feeling. Angie remembers Howard's hand on Peggy's face and her vision blurs with hot, jealous tears. This time the feeling comes on so strong she doesn’t have the wherewithal to swallow it down; she wasted all of her energy being strong in the other bedroom. She just lets herself cry.

“Oh Angie,” Peggy says softly, turning onto her side so they’re face-to-face. Their knees touch and Peggy wipes the tears from Angie’s cheeks with her thumbs. “Darling.”

“I’m being selfish,” Angie mumbles miserably.

“It’s alright, love. I understand.” Peggy strokes Angie's hair back from her forehead, her expression tender but pinched with worry. “It'll get better.” Angie lets out a wet, embarrassed sniffle and Peggy just smiles, wiping away more tears before drawing Angie closer. Angie expected to be the one comforting and holding Peggy, but it ends up being the reverse. But that’s usually how it is, anyway. They fall asleep tangled together, both of them hoping that Peggy is right. It _has_ to get better.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard suggests an... interesting solution to their problem.

One month. They’d been genuinely certain it would work that quickly, even though Howard had gently cautioned them against that sort of hope. Sure enough, the 8th of December rolls around and Peggy actually has to leave work early because the hot coiling ache in her hips makes her too nauseous to focus. Angie doesn’t know the right words of comfort for this sort of situation, so instead she makes a panettone, soaks it in hot chocolate, and fetches more aspirin from the pharmacy down the street.

They’d eaten the panettone in the living room whilst listening to the new episode of _Dragnet_. Peggy’s mood is too stormy for her provide her regular critique on the improbability of the case, so Angie picks up the slack with her usual running commentary. (“Does it even _get_ foggy in LA?”) By the time the show is over, Peggy is so worn out they decide to turn in early, and Peggy heads up to take her bath whilst Angie tidies up the mess in the kitchen.

Now Angie’s in the bath with a wet cloth over her eyes and bubbles all the way to her neck. She hums the opening music to _Dragnet_ while the faucet drips in a rhythmic, soothing way. Peggy’s just finished her nighttime routine: face, moisturised; curls, pinned back; second dosage of aspirin, taken. She looks at Angie, feeling unnecessarily sour, and sighs.

“I’m not sure if I can go through another month of this,” Peggy looks down at her bare feet, guilt quickly chasing away her irritation.

The faucet keeps up its rhythmic _drip drip drip_ as Angie holds her breath, processing Peggy’s statement carefully. “We don’t have to.” Angie says after a while, keeping her voice steady. She still can’t stop the rush of emotions that course through her - fear, guilt, frustration, sadness, relief. “If that’s… what you want.” She slides the cloth off of her eyes in time to see Peggy grimace.

“I don’t know, Angie.” Her shoulders slump and she looks at Angie with such an openly conflicted expression. “I think I’m just tired and in pain.” She frowns, “it’s making me a bit melodramatic.”

“ _Dramatic?_ That’s my job,” Angie says with a laugh. Peggy gives her an exasperated look and Angie waves her hand as if to apologise. “I’ll put on a hot water bottle when I get out.”

“Oh you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Angie sits up, tosses the cloth onto the side of the tub and starts feeling around for the drain plug, “I’m almost finished, anyhow. Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll get you the bottle once I’m done.”

“Well, alright. If you insist.” Angie just nods and Peggy smiles, stepping across the bathroom to kiss the top of Angie’s head. “You’re far too good to me, Angela Martinelli.”

“Stuff it, English. Get to bed,” Angie says, smiling into the bubbles.

By the time Angie gets out of the tub and rinses the bubbles down the drain, Peggy has turned off the lights in the room and situated herself beneath the sheets. From their bed, she watches Angie go through her nightly routine - wrapping her hair in a towel, rubbing oil into her skin, applying and removing cold cream. Her movements have a mindless fluidness, and she glides from the bathroom - naked, much to Peggy’s delight - to the vanity, where she slips on her dressing gown before heading to the bedroom door.

“Oh, where are you off to?” Peggy can’t help the annoyance in her voice, the pain in her body has dulled to a manageable ache and after watching Angie, she’d much rather just lie in bed and be held until she falls asleep. Angie turns, her brow arched.

“To get your water bottle, silly. Lemme grab that for you and then I can read you the rest of the script.” Peggy huffs, but nods. “And about that… other stuff… why don’t we talk about that tomorrow, when you’re feeling a little better.”

“Splendid,” Peggy sighs, tugging the blankets up to her chin. Angie slips out of the room and, for all its lovely charm and pleasant memories, the space feels that much colder without Angie’s personality filling it up. Angie pads down the stairs, her feet whisper quiet over the polished hardwood, her whole body tense as her mind weighs both sides of the argument: spare the mental anguish of having to sit through two more sessions with Howard, or have a child.

_There has to be a better way._

* * *

A light chill hangs in the air on the 13th of December, but it’s so sunny, the sky so bright and blue, it lures Angie and her cast member, Alicia, outside for a bite to eat. Alicia is Angie’s favourite girl from the show, all glamour in the perfect dress, with her soft brown skin and wide almost-black eyes. Her black hair is always perfectly coiffed, seeming to hold its style even after a long, hot rehearsal. Angie would hate her if she wasn’t so great.

They grab cheap sandwiches from their regular automat - not the L&L - and find a nice park bench in the sun to eat on. A little boy toddles past, dutifully followed by his nanny with a stroller, a little pink fist stuck up in the air. The boy’s wobbly, uncertain steps make Angie’s heart feel heavy and light at the same time and all she can think about is a pretty little boy with a smile just like Peggy’s.

“Babies,” Alicia says after they’ve passed. Angie’s gone all soft eyed, wistful over the ‘what-ifs’, but Alicia’s tone is like a sneer and it snaps her out of her daydreams. Alicia frowns, “you still with your lady?”

“Nothin’s changed since you last asked, Alicia. I’m starting to regret tellin’ ya.”

“Oh c’mon,” Alicia waves her hand and flips her beautiful curls over her shoulder so she can look at Angie better. “I could’a guessed you were queer just by lookin’ at you.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” Angie says, a prim imitation of Peggy, accent included. “I never wear trousers.” She turns her chin up just a little and glances away from Alicia.

“HA!” Alicia tilts her head back and the noise of her laughter carries, loud and bright, over the sound of afternoon traffic. “Not from your clothes, toots, from your attitude. You got girl-kisser written all over you.” Alicia motions to Angie’s face and Angie’s eyes go wide. Her stomach drops and she’s suddenly not feeling the pimento cheese on white bread. “No no, hon, c’mon.” Alicia’s voice has dropped low and she’s even replaced her ham and swiss in the little wrapper in her lap. “You know I’m with you on this, right? ‘Least, halfways. I’ve had my share of girlfriends. It’s not like any old schmuck would know.”

“Yeah,” Angie says, still feeling self conscious, but then Alicia bumps her shoulder and picks her sandwich back up with a smile back on her face.

“Anyways, all I was getting at was, if you ever want kids, you’re gonna have to marry a fella. No ways around that.”

“What do you mean?” Angie’s mouth goes dry with panic, her mind racing over the logistics like there might be something she forgot.

Alicia frowns, giving Angie this look like she’s sprouted a second head, “how else are you gonna, you know, get knocked up? Ladies can’t make babies together, honey, no matter how hard we may try.”

“But there are plenty of ladies who get pregnant without bein’ married. Betsy DeBlasio, she dropped out of the show on account of her bein’ knocked up!”

“Oh sure you can get _in the family way_ without being married,” Alicia shakes her head, “but why would you want that? Trust me, kid, you either gotta accept being an aunt, or find yourself a guy you can deal with for the rest of your life.” She takes a bite of her sandwich and looks down the path away from Angie as something catches her attention. Angie tries to bottle up the urge to explain the whole situation with Howard. But she’s pretty sure Alicia wouldn’t be so understanding.

“So…” Angie tilts her head after smoothing out her composure, “that’s why you married Maurice?”

“Nah, I actually love the brute. ‘Sides, no babies ‘til I’ve finished this show.” And then she’s off, rattling on about Maurice - newlyweds find any excuse, Angie’s found. Angie tries her best to pay attention, but her mind slips back to babies and Peggy and, reluctantly, to Howard.

* * *

Angie would rather jump off a cliff than have another uncomfortable meeting with Howard Stark. But both Howard and Peggy seem of a similar mind as, over tea, they do their best to avoid the topic altogether. Angie allows herself to be lulled by the false pretense of a social call, enjoying the small talk, the gentle way Peggy teases Jarvis every time he walks through to check on the status of their tea cups. Howard is changed from their last session, no crease of worry on his brow, no frowning droop to his mouth. He laughs with an easiness that is so normal on him it’s actually reassuring.

It doesn’t last long, of course. Eventually, they finish off their sandwiches and the little plate of fruit tarts. Jarvis busies himself with tidying up and then, once their cups have been refilled, he practically sprints out of the room towards the kitchen. Howard leans forward, his expression still light and friendly, but his mood changed. No more avoiding the conversation.

“So the last try didn’t work.”

“Yes,” Peggy says after a tense pause. Her eyelids flutter shut for a moment and Angie watches from across the coffee table, feeling useless.

“Well alright,” Howard nods, “we’ll just have to change the dates. Let’s see, twelve days after the eighth would be the … twentieth? That’s a Tuesday.” Howard looks thoughtfully off into the distance and Angie glances pointedly at Peggy.

“Howard,” Peggy says, a lick of exhaustion curling around the word. Howard seems to shake himself out of his train of thought and glances from Angie to Peggy, confused.

“We’re not so sure we want to keep this up,” Angie says, when Peggy looks at her for back up.

“Oh,” Howard frowns, looking disappointed for a beat. But then something must work itself out in his brain because he switches gears, “alright then. No harm in trying. Mind if I ask, is it something I did?”

“Yes,” Angie says too quickly, immediately feeling like a total ass. Howard looks genuinely stricken and Angie shakes her head, “but we asked you to, so the blame’s really on us.”

“It’s the sex,” Peggy says gently, giving Angie an exasperated look. “It feels wrong, on many levels, to be doing that whilst Angie just sits by and watches.”

“Mm,” Howard nods, scratching his jaw in thought. Then, as if something occurs to him, his face lights up and he leans forward. “Why don’t we just have Miss Martinelli join in.”

“Excuse me-!”

“I don’t think-”

“Wait wait,” Howard waves his hands, stopping both Peggy and Angie from shouting at him, “what I mean is… there are ways that we can include Angie in the act.”

“Without me having to,” Angie balks, “touch you?”  
“Touch-? Angie, I’m hurt,” Howard says, touching his chest delicately. Peggy gives him a look and he rolls his eyes, “Angie, I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. Promise.”

“What do you have in mind?” Peggy says, conversationally, like they’re talking about plans for going to the opera or Christmas.

“Not sure yet,” Howard frowns, rubs his fingers over his moustache and sits back in his chair. “But I’ll think of something. Let’s just stick to the plan, I’ll take you ladies out on the twentieth and we’ll have a good time, no dishes to clean afterwards. If… that’s alright with you two.”

* * *

Howard takes them to the Stork Club on the 20th and treats them to a carefree evening full of champagne and laughter and dance. He sits at their table, chatting up a pretty red head - just his type - whilst Peggy and Angie dance and flirt, enjoying the intimate privacy of the crowded dance floor. Nobody stares when a Angie rests her head on Peggy’s shoulder during a slow number, nobody seems to care.

They’re dancing to an instrumental version of “The Very Thought of You” when Peggy feels a tap on her shoulder and looks up to see Howard with a twinkle in his eye.

“May I cut in?”

“Uh,” Peggy glances at Angie, who just shrugs, the champagne making her feel giddy. The band keeps up the slow jazz tune and Peggy steps to the side, letting Howard stand in her place and scoop Angie into an off-beat waltz that takes them to a more secluded part of the dance floor.

“You’re pretty good!” Angie says once Howard’s gotten back on beat with the song.

“You too, kid.” He smiles and gently pulls her close to him, saying near her ear, “I hope things are okay between the two of us.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“C’mon, Angie. I get it. Last time sucked because you got jealous.” Howard allows Angie to pull back a bit, putting a more respectable distance between their bodies. “I can get why you’re apprehensive about going for it again.”

“I’m not,” Angie says too fast and Howard chuckles.

“Yeah, you are.” His smile falters and he sighs, squeezing her waist lightly, “I get it, Angie. Peggy’s an amazing broad. I had my own reservations, too, but,” he purses his lips and shrugs, “I told her I’d do anything for her, and I meant it.”

“Oh, Howard,” Angie sighs, stepping closer so they’re chest-to-chest again, “I know you would. Maybe I’m jealous but… I understand that all of that was necessary.”

“Well,” Howard clears his throat, “hopefully tonight’ll be better. It’ll be all about you two, that I can promise.”

“I can’t even begin-”

“Might I cut in, this time?” It’s Peggy’s voice, behind Angie, and the song switches over to an upbeat rendition of “I’ve Got a Gal”. Howard’s arms slip from around Angie and he lets Peggy swing her back into the throng of the dance floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he wanders back over to their table, the redhead nowhere in sight.

They head home a little bit before midnight after another bottle and a round of too-sweet sherry. Howard convinces one of the servers to bring them a large, lovely piece of chocolate cake in a creamy white box and Jarvis picks them up at the kerb, their laughter following them all the way home.

“I’m gonna go get into something more appropriate,” Howard says once they get inside, undoing his bowtie as soon as he sets foot in the foyer. He tips an imaginary hat towards them and heads upstairs to what is quickly becoming his room - Angie actually thinks of it that way without cringing.

Before they put away the cake, Angie and Peggy try the frosting. It quickly devolves into Peggy licking chocolate from Angie’s mouth and almost pressing her down onto the kitchen floor to taste other parts of her, as well.

“Oh but, Howard-” Angie says as Peggy starts to work down the zipper to her dress.

“Right,” Peggy straightens up, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress, “well, lead the way.”

They all but trip up the stairs, champagne and arousal making them clumsily giddy.

“Where should we-?” Angie asks as she stumbles onto the landing. Left takes them to their bedroom, warm and familiar, right takes them to the conception room, which doesn’t seem as forbidding as it usually does. She can hear Howard’s jaunty whistling from his room and it makes her blush.

“Well, we’ll need our dressing gowns, unless you’re planning on wandering about the house naked with Howard on the lurk...” Peggy smirks at Angie’s deepening blush and tugs her to the left, “come on, I want you out of that dress immediately.”

* * *

Angie tries not to be awkward about Howard lying there next to them, naked beneath the sheet. But there’s something about being on her knees so close to a man in nothing but her slip that makes her want to burst into hysterical laughter. She never envisioned herself in this position. She tries to bite back her self-consciousness, but blushes regardless as she nudges Peggy’s dressing gown off of her shoulders, and blushes harder when she reaches for the hem of her slip.

“Angie…”

“I’m kinda nervous,” she says shakily.

“Obviously,” Peggy chuckles, taking Angie’s hands in her own. “Pretend he’s not there.” Howard makes some snuffly noise but Peggy just ignores him. “It’s just you and me right now, like every other time.” Peggy guides Angie’s hands over her breasts and Angie inhales softly, nervousness fizzling out of her blood as she palms the familiar weight. Peggy smirks at how easy Angie is sometimes. “Alright, darling?”

“Uh huh…” Angie’s own desire overrides her awkwardness and she slides her hands down the front of Peggy’s slip, taking her time to caress those sensitive spots on her ribs, her hips, her thighs. Peggy lets out a little huff of pleasure as Angie starts to slide up the slip, her fingers dragging up every inch of newly exposed skin as she does. She gets the slip up over Peggy’s hips and, “oh god,” her mind scratches like a record when she realises Peggy doesn’t have any underwear on. The last of her willpower slips away and she all but yanks the slip the rest of the way off. Peggy laughs and pulls Angie close once the slip is tossed to the floor. The soft satin of Angie’s slip feels amazing against Peggy’s overheated skin and she would love to stay that way forever, kissing Angie softly, like they have all the time in the world.

Angie runs her fingers up and down Peggy’s side, from the curve of her breast to the little spiderweb of stretch marks on her hip. “Lie back,” she says quietly, when the urge to touch Peggy all over becomes overwhelming. Peggy complies, settling back against the pillows as Angie follows, swinging her leg over Peggy’s and pressing herself against the taut muscle of her thigh for a bit of relief. Peggy bends her knee just a bit to provide extra friction and Angie gasps, propping herself up over Peggy.

“That alright?” Peggy asks once Angie seems to have settled against Peggy’s body.

Angie can barely muster a weak ‘uh huh’, rocking her hips against Peggy’s thigh for unnecessary emphasis. Peggy laughs and Angie uses her free hand to trace spiral patterns down Peggy’s chest, the softness of her stomach, and her waist. She traces the indentations from her underwear, smirking at the shuddery breath Peggy takes.

“Don’t be a tease,” Peggy grumbles and Angie laughs, moving her hand to cup Peggy’s sex. She rubs through her wet folds with two fingers, making Peggy moan and arch towards the touch. Angie finds her clit, sliding it between her two fingers slowly while Peggy jerks at the sensation. She leans down and kisses Peggy, drawing her attention away from the sensations between her legs long enough to adjust the position of her hand and find the nub with her thumb. Angie swirls the pad of her thumb around Peggy’s clit, keeping the touch maddeningly light, her mouth moving from Peggy’s to trail kisses down her chest. She doesn’t give Peggy a chance to adjust to the sensations of her thumb and her mouth before quickly sliding two fingers into her.

“Angie,” Peggy says, arching up as Angie nips her way back up to Peggy's neck. Angie rocks her hips against Peggy’s leg, groaning as Peggy drags her nails over the bare skin of her shoulders. Angie moves her fingers in fast, deep strokes, pressing against the rough spot inside Peggy that makes her eyes roll back into her head. Peggy moans and rolls her hips to meet the thrust of Angie's fingers, the pleasure building to a point where Peggy could easily lose herself in it. 

“Oh g- Angie - I’m- I’m- STOP!" Peggy yelps, weakly twisting her hips away from Angie's touch. Angie pulls out, concern tempering the lust in her eyes.

"You okay?"

"Yes," Peggy says in a shaky exhale. "I almost lost it."

"Oh, that’s it?" Angie says sheepishly, "I couldn't help it." She grins and Peggy laughs, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Alright well, get off me so-"

"Oh is that my cue?" Howard says making Angie twitch back onto her heels in surprise.

"God, I almost forgot you were there!"

"Yep, still here. Wanna get this started? I'm kinda... very ready," he clears his throat and they both finally notice exactly how ready he is.

“Right,” Angie says, taking in a deep breath to try and cool herself off as she moves out from between Peggy’s legs.

It doesn’t help.

“You never told us what you came up with, Howard.” Peggy says as she sits up.

“It’s this position I found in the Kama Sutra. Kind of a neat book, really-” Angie stares at him blankly and he coughs, “Right. It’s real simple. I stay on my back and, Peggy, you’ll be on top and face the foot of the bed,” Howard says excitedly.

“I don’t see how that’s going to be comfortable.” Peggy eyes him skeptically.

“That’s why Angie’s there, to make it more enjoyable,” he says kindly. Angie reaches out and squeezes Peggy’s hand gently. “Just trust me. Climb on.” Howard pats his stomach and Peggy’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Go on,” Angie says softly, still holding her hand. Peggy takes a deep breath and maneuvers herself so she’s straddling Howard’s stomach, keeping up on her knees so she’s not putting all of her weight on him.

“ _God_ ,” Howard hisses and Angie startles.

“Are you alright?” Angie asks.

“Uh huh,” he gives her two thumbs up and chews on his lip. “Can I touch you?”

“What do you mean?” Peggy asks warily, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Like your hips, to kind of… you know, direct you.”

“Oh,” Peggy glances at Angie who just shrugs and makes a face like _how am I supposed to know_ and Peggy nods, “sure, that’s alright.”

“Excellent. Now, uh, Angie, you get down between my legs and face Peg. The rest is… pretty straight forward.”

“Easy for you to say,” Angie mutters, settling onto her knees between Howard’s legs. She can’t help it, her eyes travel down Peggy’s naked body, pleased with the marks her mouth made on her breasts and stomach.

“Are you ready?” Angie asks, glancing up at Peggy’s face after admiring her handiwork.

“I think so,” Peggy nods, shifting her position and making Howard moan. “Sorry.” Peggy makes a face and Angie shrugs, “what now?”

“Lift up,” Howard says, sounding breathless. Peggy complies, rocking up onto her knees so she’s now hovering above Howard’s erection. He grabs himself and Angie watches with fascination. “I’m gonna need a little help, Peggy.”

“Oh,” Peggy looks Angie in the eyes, “you’re still okay, right?” Not trusting her own voice, Angie just nods. Peggy squeezes her hand before letting go and reaching down between them, placing her hand over Howard’s. Howard gasps and Angie bites her lip, not really able to see anything with Peggy’s hand in the way. Instead, she’s merely able to watch as Peggy slowly lowers onto Howard. He groans and rocks his hips up causing Peggy to gasp, her head snapping up as she bites her bottom lip. She waits until Peggy seems to settle, the quivering tension held in her thighs finally relaxing. Unable to just sit idly anymore, Angie surges forward and slides her hand behind Peggy’s arm and down the soft plane of her belly to touch her clit.

“Oh _hell_ ,” Peggy bites out and Angie laughs, the tension in her belly snapping at the familiar look of shocked pleasure on Peggy’s face. Knowing that she put that look there makes everything suddenly better. She falls back to the same frantic pace from before and Peggy starts to rock her hips in time with Angie’s ministrations.

“Damn,” Howard grunts behind Peggy, “s-slow down.”

“Seriously?” Peggy hisses back.

“This is kind of a first! Just- just go easy. Remember, we need to finish together.” Howard’s voice is shakey with effort. Angie frowns, her eyebrows furrowed in question, and Peggy just exhales and nods.

“Alright,” Peggy leans forward and brushes her mouth against Angie’s. The questions flutter out of Angie’s mind and she chases Peggy’s mouth. She pulls her back for a real kiss, using her free hand to tangle in the soft curling mess of her hair. Peggy goes back to rocking against Angie’s hand and Angie returns to stroking her clit, slow and soft, even though the champagne in her veins makes her want to push Peggy until she screams.

Angie does enjoy the languid approach of eking pleasure out of every inch of Peggy’s body. She trails her mouth from Peggy’s lips and down her neck to bite the soft skin over her pulse point. She bites again, this time a little harder, and Peggy gasps, her hips jerking so hard Howard curses under his breath. Smirking, Angie traces the nails of her free hand down Peggy’s front, drawing swirls on her sensitive skin until she grazes her nipple. Peggy exhales a sharp curse and Angie chuckles against the skin of her neck, moving to bite lightly on her shoulder. She glances at Howard, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip wedged between his teeth, perspiration on his brow. A strange sensation tugs between her legs and she returns her attention to the feeling of Peggy’s skin - the tight pebble of her nipple, the slick hardness of her clit. It only takes a few more purposeful strokes of Angie's fingers before Peggy's hips shudder and she grips Angie's shoulders tightly.

“ _Angie_ \- Howard,” Peggy pants, “I can’t hang on much longer.”

“O-okay,” Howard’s grip on Peggy’s hips tightens, “faster,” he breathes and Peggy picks up speed again, rocking against both of them with renewed intensity. Howard arches into each surge of her hips and Angie’s fingers slip in imperfect circles around Peggy’s clit.

It’s all too much. Peggy moans loudly, leaning forward to rest her forehead against Angie’s shoulder. Angie tilts her head back and bites her lip, rocking side to side to alleviate the pressure of arousal between her legs. Howard gasps, jerking his hips in hard, erratic movements.

“Now,” he grunts and Peggy lets out a noise that almost sounds like a sob. Howard groans as Peggy’s hips stop moving. Angie knows that sign well and pulls Peggy into a kiss as she finally tips over the cliff. Angie moans into Peggy’s mouth, the discharge of pleasure almost too much for her to take. She barely registers the noises coming from Howard, but soon the thrusting of his own hips stills and Angie lets her hand fall away from Peggy’s sex.

“Christ,” Howard says when the silence gets to be too weird. He slips his hands from Peggy’s hips and she straightens up, keeping herself balanced with her hands on Angie’s shoulders.

“Are you alright, Howard?” Peggy asks, not even sure if she’s alright herself. Her hips ache and her legs feel boneless but she can’t even be bothered by that because of the pleasure rippling out from her very core.

“Uh- yeah just. Peg do you mind um-” Howard lifts his hips a little.

Peggy yelps, “ _oh!_ ” and her face flushes a darker red. She tightens her grip on Angie’s shoulders as she eases herself off of Howard and onto the bed at his side. “Better?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Howard looks a little dazed, “I’ve never-”

“Felt a woman orgasm like that?” Angie offers dryly.

“What? N- _of course I have_.” He seems to snap out of it, propping himself up on his elbows so he can squint at Angie. “It was just different.”

“I imagine it was the position,” Peggy offers, but Angie just has that smug, knowing look on her face.

“Right,” Howard says with a huff, “I’m just gonna… lie here for a minute… Gather myself. You should uh, lie down too, Peg. You know the drill.”

“Mm, right.” Peggy sits forward a little and grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed, stuffing it under her hips before lying back to check its position. Angie just sort of sits on her knees between them, thinking it’s going to be some awkward sandwich with her in the middle. She’s even more aroused and flushed than she was before, wondering if it’d be rude to excuse herself to take care of things. She starts to formulate her excuse when Peggy pulls her down on top of her, her eyes are half-lidded and darkened with lust. Angie lets out a little yelp but then Peggy leans up and kisses her, all the earlier softness gone now that Peggy has had her release. Angie scrambles to prop herself up whilst Peggy slips her hand between Angie’s legs. She manages to hike up the hem of Angie’s slip enough to scratch her nails against the silky skin of her inner thigh. Peggy starts to inch her fingers up when the bed dips and they both remember Howard is still there. Angie feels a little pang of guilt for forgetting him so quickly.  

“Howard?” Angie breaks away from Peggy’s mouth and glances over to look at Howard who already has his red robe on, tied fast around his waist. He looks endearingly disheveled and it makes Angie smile.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Stay? We’ll have breakfast in the morning.”

“In here?”

“Oh god, no,” Peggy props herself up, tilting her head a little, “in your room.”

“Oh,” Howard blinks, looking thoughtful for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face, “yeah, I’d like that. I’ll phone Jarvis and let him know to close the house for the night.”

“Good,” Peggy says and then waves as if to brush him off, “now if you’ll excuse us-”

“Right,” Howard coughs and all but runs from the room. Angie laughs, shaking her head as the door clicks closed.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Angie says, still smiling.

“Oh please, Angie, as if you wanted him to stick around longer,” she emphasises this by sliding her hand up further and pressing the tips of her fingers against the damp spot on Angie’s underwear.

“ _Oh_ ,” Angie licks her lips, “you have a point.”

“Mmhm,” Peggy grins, “now, get that offensive slip off so I can take proper care of you.”

“If you insist, English,” she laughs and reaches for the hem of her slip.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time jump a few months to March 1950

 

Angie has gotten very good at counting things; the minutes that Peggy’s supposed to keep her hips propped up on a pillow, the time between Peggy’s cycles, the days in between meetings with Howard. The counting isn’t so much a burden, just part of her life.

One morning she’s lying in bed whilst Peggy’s getting ready, going through the blue leather datebook she’s been keeping since they started all this madness last year. She hums under her breath, the refrain from the opening number in her show a constant companion these days, as she checks her calendar for the right day to set up an appointment with her tailor. She gets to the part of the song where all the girls are supposed to go ‘woo!’ as the guys hoist them up when she realises, she’s been counting for too long. She flips back to January and counts from the little red mark on the 10th and, sure enough, there isn’t another red mark in February at all.

“You know what today is?” She says to Peggy, sitting up so fast the room starts to spin. She can feel the excited tremble in her voice but there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

“I believe it’s the ninth,” Peggy says without looking away from her reflection, carefully removing pins from her hair.

Angie laughs, tossing off the bedcovers, “it’s the ninth, of March!”

“That’s what I just said,” Peggy frowns at her reflection.

“Peggy, you missed a month.” Angie tosses her datebook down and scrambles out from under the covers and onto her knees. “I was so busy with the show and you were so busy with that Dottie girl, we didn’t even realise! Peggy, you know what this means?” She pops off of the bed and grabs her datebook, flipping back to the January calendar as she hurries across the bedroom to the vanity. “You’re pregnant.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Angie, I think I would know if I was pregnant.” Peggy frowns, pulling more pins from her hair.

“English, look.” Angie says, rolling her eyes as she wraps her arms around Peggy’s midsection, holding the datebook open so Peggy can see. She turns the page, February was a busy month, notes scribbled on nearly every square of the calendar, but there’s no red dot to be seen.

“You could’ve just forgotten. Look how packed our schedule was,” Peggy furrows her brows, scanning the calendar covered with Angie’s appearances and galas, and Peggy’s week-long disappearance to Los Angeles. “Perhaps in Los Angeles…”

Angie scoffs and drops the book onto the vanity, leaning up to peer at Peggy in the mirror. “Wouldja trust me? I know these things. I have three brothers with three wives and between them they have fifteen kids. You’re pregnant.” She places her hands lightly against Peggy’s abdomen, her palms warm through the fabric of Peggy’s skirt.

Peggy pauses and looks down at Angie’s hands, pressing her lips together as a thrill of hope works its way through her veins. Half her hair is still up in pin curls, the other half still tightly wound and in need of setting. She looks up at Angie’s reflection, her face all lit up even though five minutes ago she was practically dead to the world in bed. Peggy takes a deep breath, the hope mixing with a flutter of excitement in her chest. “Oh, Angie.” She turns around in Angie’s arms and Angie lifts her hands to cup Peggy’s jaw. She kisses her gently, tenderly, not wanting to smear her red lipstick.

“You should take the day off,” Angie says, dropping her hands to her sides and stepping back to look Peggy over. “We’ll go to the movies and then have somethin’ fancy for dinner.”

Peggy smiles, the effervescence of Angie’s enthusiasm is always contagious. She places her hand where Angie’s had been, imagining, their baby, and a little bubble of hope rises from somewhere deep. For a moment, Peggy feels herself buoyed by the feeling, only to have it quickly squashed by a niggling feeling of doubt. But she doesn’t feel any different, not like she imagines she’s supposed to, and, oh, shouldn’t she know if something’s really happened? The only pregnant women she’s known are Angie’s sisters-in-law and they just moan about back aches and using the toilet all the time. Nothing’s changed in that department for her. Bubble of hope firmly quashed, Peggy sighs and turns back to mirror to continue pulling pins out of her hair. “I think it would be a good idea to visit a physician first, Angie. We don’t want to get our hopes up over nothing.”

Angie’s brow wrinkles before she remembers that this is Peggy, always prepared for the worst, for disappointment. “Alright Peg. But who’re we gonna go see? Our… arrangement isn’t too traditional. And I’ll be damned if you’re goin’ with Howard.”

“Goodness, no. But… Howard might know someone who can be trusted.”

“Oh,” Angie snorts, “I’m sure he does.”

* * *

“You don’t have to say it.”

“And why is that, Howard?” Peggy arches a brow and tilts her head.

“You didn’t call me in February,” Howard says pointedly. He looks pleased with himself, seated across the diner table from Peggy and Angie, “it was an easy guess.”

“I’ve not been to the doctor,” Peggy says seriously, “we don’t want to assume.”

“I don’t need a doctor to tell me you’re knocked up,” Angie says, only loud enough for Howard and Peggy to hear. Nevertheless, Peggy shoots Angie a dirty look and Angie just shrugs unapologetically.

“Well,” Howard sits back, looking thoughtfully at his water glass, beads of water collecting on the formica tabletop. “If it’s a doctor you need, I know of one you can go to. Excellent, professional, discreet.”

“Really?” Peggy raises her brows and Howard nods and shrugs, “that would be helpful, Howard. Thank you.” Peggy smiles, finally able to relax back into the booth.

“Don’t mention it, Peg. There’ll be time for thank yous when you get the confirmation. I’ll take you two to the Waldorf for dinner, we’ll celebrate properly.”  
“Good plan, Stark, now can we order lunch? I’m starvin’.” Angie says as she sticks her hand up to wave over their waitress.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Angie furrows her brows and gazes at the inconspicuous stairway that leads down to an equally inconspicuous garden apartment door. There’s some flowering shrub in a pot that serves to make the entryway look a bit homier and a little sign that reads, in tidy cursive, Doctor M. Streit - By Appointment Only.

“He’s one of Howard’s friends and he promised he’d be discreet, so I suppose we have no choice.”

“Alright,” Angie shrugs, loops her arm through Peggy’s, and leads the way down the stairs.

A little bell chimes as they open the door and there’s a woman, tall with brown skin and an apron over her pale yellow dress, standing near the bottom of the stairs.

“You must be Margaret,” she smiles. “I’ll make sure Doctor Streit’s ready and then I’ll bring you back,” she slips through the closed door at the end of a short hallway.

“You should sit,” Angie says once the door has clicked closed.

“Why?” Peggy glances around the room, the generic paintings on the walls, an ordinary sofa pushed up against the staircase.

“I dunno, keep off your feet or something? Ma’s always telling my brothers’ wives to sit.”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt to keep standing,” Peggy says with a laugh and Angie frowns. “But thank you for the consideration, darling, I suppose I’m quite lucky to have someone so attentive.”

“Oh hush,” Angie flaps her hands and takes a seat on the sofa, just as the door opens again and the woman steps out partway.

“You two can come back now,” she steps back into the open door and Peggy shoots Angie a triumphant smile before following the woman.

* * *

The examination room is smaller than they’d imagined, but there’s a table for Peggy to haul herself up onto and a chair nearby for Angie. The woman, who never introduces herself, hands them a clipboard with a typed up questionnaire on it, and tells Peggy to fill it out before the doctor comes in. Peggy’s barely finished the page when the door opens again and another woman walks in, her brown hair pulled back into a twist and a pair of silver-framed glasses perched on her nose.

“Hello,” she says, not glancing up from the file in her hands, “Miss Margaret Carter, yes?”

“You can call me Peggy,” she says, folding her hands over the clipboard with her questionnaire on it.

“Pleasure to meet you,” the woman says, putting the file down on a small table that’s against the far wall. “I’m Doctor Streit.”

“Wait, a lady doctor?” Angie gapes and then looks up at Peggy who purses her lips together.

“Howard didn’t warn you?” The woman smiles, taking a crisp white lab coat from a hook on the back of the door and sliding it on over her dark green dress.

“No,” Peggy says, frowning, “but I suppose it was wrong of us to assume-”

“Oh please, how often do you meet a woman in the medical field that isn’t a nurse? There’s a reason I don’t put my first name on the sign outside. It’s fine,” Dr Streit waves her hand and takes the clipboard with Peggy’s information. She scans over Peggy’s answers, pursing her lips and nodding. “So you’re a month along?”

“Well, we don’t know.” Peggy says honestly, glancing at Angie, who (helpfully) rolls her eyes, “that’s why we’re here, Doctor. For confirmation.”

“You and your…” the doctor looks at Angie, who is busy staring at Peggy with this dopey look on her face, “friend?”

“Oh did, did Howard not talk to you?” Peggy frowns.

“He left a message with my assistant, asking for me to fit you in this week and call back with the appointment.” Dr Streit shrugs, “he’s referred several patients to me before, so I’ve just learned to be grateful for the influx of business.”

“Oh,” Peggy glances over at Angie, who just shrugs. They hadn’t really anticipated an inquisition, but Dr Streit looks reasonable.

“So,” the doctor starts, placing the clipboard down on her lap lightly, “you are-”

“The father,” Angie jokes, a tense trickle of laughter following her words. She immediately regrets it, because Dr Streit just looks surprised. “I mean I’m-”

“Oh!” She laughs when the realisation dawns on her, “I understand,” she says, to both Angie and Peggy’s immense relief. “I suppose that’s what Howard meant by right up my alley.”

“Beg pardon?” Peggy’s brows shoot up.

“I’m sure you know, Howard Stark doesn’t get turned down often.” Angie makes a noise in the back of her throat, almost like a laugh, and Peggy nods knowingly. “Well, he was very curious as to why I turned him down. It took introducing him to Carla to get it through his thick skull.”

“Carla?”

“You just met her.”

“Just… Oh, you mean your receptionist?” Angie glances at the door that separates the waiting area and the exam room.

“I actually prefer to call her my wife,” Dr Streit says simply, with a soft, loving look both women recognise, “but she does help with the business when she’s not at work.” Angie laughs and the doctor grins, “let’s get this exam started, shall we?”

* * *

Angie’s in the kitchen with the little red Fada radio turned up, singing with Nat King Cole about Mona Lisa, when the phone rings. She starts to wipe water from her hands, humming through the instrumental part as she walks over to the phone on the kitchen wall.

“I’ve got it, Angie!” Peggy calls from the living room where she’s been since finishing supper, going over the most recent packet of photos from Sousa’s recon team. Angie shrugs and turns back to the sink to finish dealing with the stubborn burnt on sauce in a lasagne pan.

In the foyer, Peggy plucks up the phone’s receiver and cradles it against her shoulder so she can continue sifting through a stack of photos, all blurry images of Dottie - or whatever her name is now. “Hello?”

“Hello, may I speak with Miss Carter?”

“Speaking,” Peggy frowns at a particularly grainy image that shows Dottie applying lipstick. Most likely the tube she’d made off with from Peggy’s room.

“It’s Doctor Streit. Do you have a moment?”

“Oh, yes,” Peggy straightens up, snapping the file closed. “Doctor Streit, that was quick.”

“I know someone at the frog lab,” the doctor chuckles and then clears her throat, “anyway, I just wanted you to know, the lab contacted me this morning.”

“Oh. And that means…?” Peggy can hear Angie singing from the kitchen and her heart leaps a little in her chest, like she already knows what the doctor is about to say.

“It means Angie was right. Congratulations, Peggy. You’re pregnant.”

* * *

Angie’s still not done with the lasagne pan when Peggy gets off the phone. She hears the click from the living room and the sound of Peggy’s slippered feet on the wood floor. Quick phone calls are always worrisome and usually lead to Peggy murmuring an apology into a kiss before she slips off to attend to some S.H.I.E.L.D.-related duty. Angie frowns, pressing harder with the brillo pad while she steels herself for another lonely night. She hears Peggy enter, but keeps scrubbing away, Doris Day singing about magic in the background.

“Angie,” Peggy says gently, coming up behind her and resting her chin on Angie’s shoulder.

“Was that Thompson?” Angie says, a little colder than she’d intended and scrubs harder.

“No,” Peggy smiles and tilts her head a little before stepping back. “Someone better.” Angie looks over her shoulder, eyeing Peggy.   
“Who then?”

“It was the doctor,” Peggy says, her voice wavering, “Angie, I’m-”

“Doctor Streit?” Angie gasps, letting go of the brillo pad and pan before turning around. Peggy nods, her face lighting up with a smile as she closes the space between them and pulls Angie into a kiss. “I told ya we didn’t need a doctor, English,” Angie mumbles against Peggy’s mouth, reaching up to cup Peggy’s face with warm, soapy hands.

* * *

“A baby,” Angie says, her voice full of wonder. She runs the tips of her fingers over Peggy’s bare stomach, as flat and soft as it’s always been.

“I can’t believe it, honestly.” Peggy watches Angie’s fingers, tired and satisfied from Angie’s idea of a celebration. “Nothing’s different.” Angie snorts, tracing the shape of a heart just below Peggy’s navel.

“Count yourself lucky, English. I’ve heard horror stories about the first months. Losing your lunch and all that.” Angie wrinkles her nose and rests her palm on Peggy’s stomach as she scoots closer. “Ma says she barely ate when she was pregnant with me.” She settles against Peggy’s side, resting her head on Peggy’s shoulder while Peggy wraps her arm around Angie’s back.

“Well I’m rather relieved to be special,” Peggy smiles, kissing the top of Angie’s head. She’s content to lie there like that for hours, safe and comfortable with the warmth of Angie’s body against her own. She runs her fingers up and down Angie’s back, listening to her soft, even breathing. “Are you happy?” She asks quietly, resting her hand on Angie’s hip. Angie is quiet and Peggy thinks maybe she’d gone to sleep, but then she shifts, pressing a kiss against Peggy’s clavicle.

“Of course,” Angie sighs, “but Peggy, I’d be happy with or without a baby, so long as I’m with you.”

“I feel the same way, Angie,” Peggy smiles, resting her hand on top of Angie’s on her stomach. She watches their hands rise and fall, and realises, may be she doesn’t feel different, physically, but everything else is different. “Angie, do you think we’re ready for this?”

“I-” Angie pauses, biting her bottom lip, “I dunno, Peggy. I hope so.”

“Everything’s going to change.”

“Are you okay with that?” Angie sits up a little, looking at Peggy with those wide, honest eyes of hers.

“Well, change hasn’t always been a good thing for me,” Peggy frowns, stroking the back of Angie’s hand gently, “but I think this will be. Good, I mean. I might not be ready for it, not yet, but I do want this.”

“Oh good,” Angie exhales and shakes her head, “English, we’re havin’ a kid.”

“What were we thinking,” Peggy laughs.

“I’m not sure,” Angie smiles, “now turn that light off and get some sleep, Pegs. You’re sleeping for two these days.” Angie says it very seriously, tugging the covers bunched up on top of their legs over their bodies. Peggy just laughs again and reaches over to switch off her bedside lamp.

Peggy falls asleep thinking of cradles and booties and Angie singing show tunes as lullabies. Everything is changing. And they’re having a kid.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Angie and Peggy go to the Martinelli house for Sunday dinner, they sort of have no choice but to come clean about the baby. They've braced themselves for the worst that, surprisingly, never comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Angie’s family. Explaining who they are in relation to Angie made the narrative way too complicated. This is easier!
> 
> FIORELLA MARTINELLI: Angie’s mother  
> ANGELO “PRIMO” MARTINELLI: Angie’s oldest brother  
> LOLA MARTINELLI: Primo’s wife  
> ENNIO MARTINELLI: Angie’s second oldest brother  
> CLAUDIA MARTINELLI: Ennio’s wife  
> SALVATORE MARTINELLI: Angie’s third oldest brother  
> MARIA MARTINELLI: Salvatore’s wife
> 
> This chapter takes place in May of 1950

“Mamma,” Angie says, fiddling awkwardly with the soft edge of her blue apron, the same apron she's been wearing since she was 16.

“Che cos'è?” Her mom doesn’t even look up from the pan of lasagne she’s putting together. Angie watches her elbows move as she works, mustering courage that will never fully come.

“Peggy’s…” Angie looks over at Peggy, who has already moved across the kitchen to stand next to Angie. She reaches for Peggy’s hand, squeezes her fingers gently, and then takes a deep breath. “Ma. Peggy’s pregnant.”

“Che?” Angie’s mother turns around, a frown on her face that makes Angie straighten her shoulders even more. “A baby?”

“Yeah, mamma.”

Her mother folds her hands in front of her and Angie watches her mother’s face as she processes the information. They waited as long as they could, really, but that morning Angie had caught Peggy’s naked profile in the bathroom doorway, the little swell of her stomach now obvious, and knew they couldn’t wait until the next family dinner. Angie wishes she could tell her all of that, but her mother’s expression shutters closed and she turns back quickly to the lasagne.

“So this is the last dinner then, eh?” The chill in her voice is unmistakable and Angie watches Peggy’s face go sheet white next to her.

“What?”

“The last time we’ll be seeing Miss Carter,” her mother clarifies, the ‘Miss’ coming out as a hiss. She picks up another noodle and returns to her lasagne. “Shame. We enjoyed her company.”

“Ma!”

“What!” Her mother spins around, a dangerous look on her face. “Angela, she’s going to get married, yes? Raise the baby with its _father_.” The words spit out of Mrs Martinelli and Angie actually shrinks back, unable to recall the last time her mother spoke to her like that.

“Mamma! It’s… it’s-”

“It’s _our_ baby, Mrs Martinelli,” Peggy says, with a warmth to her voice that is nearly palpable. They’ve never talked about it, how to tell her mother about them, her mother’s just kind of always known. Peggy has been Angie’s 'special friend' since they’d moved in together, and her mother has never asked questions.

“Oh! _Grazie a dio!_ ” Mrs Martinelli comes rushing forward, capturing Angie’s face in her soft, work-worn hands. “A baby!” Her face is alight with the kind of joy that radiates outwards, from the heart, and her eyes are all shiny in the bright kitchen light.

“Ma?” Angie glances over at Peggy, exchanging a bewildered look before looking back at her mother. Angie’s mother just pats her cheeks and then lets go of Angie’s face to do the same to Peggy, patting her pale cheeks with weathered dark fingers. Angie’s mother steps back after she’s done and looks from Angie to Peggy for a few moments, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Your papa would have never approved, Angela,” she says, when she seems to have finally come to a conclusion. Angie tenses at the mention of her long-gone father, something she hadn’t even thought about in the entire process. “But he’s gone to God and, honestly, I don’t care. As long as you’re happy and taken care of.” She waves a hand, silencing Angie who just barely got her mouth open. “I’ve always known about your ways, _passerotta_ , I’m your mother. I never thought you’d get be a mother. But now this? Angela. This baby is a blessing from God _Himself_. I need no other proof.”

“Mamma,” Angie says, the heat of tears on her cheeks surprising her. She never did the whole God thing, not like her brothers or her parents, but her mother’s faith is so devout that hearing it from her is as good as hearing it from a priest. She lurches forward and throws her arms around her mother, who catches her in an easy, familiar embrace.

“Nothing more,” she says softly after a moment, patting Angie’s hair before releasing her. “We’ll tell everyone else after dinner. Get back to that chocolate,” Mrs Martinelli says to Peggy, “and Angela, why don’t you help me layer.” She turns back to the dish and Angie catches the stunned look on Peggy’s face. All she can do is shrug, feeling just as flabbergasted as she moves to her mother’s side to help.

* * *

Angela’s mother never asks who the father is. She doesn’t care. Neither do Angie’s brothers, who all love their baby sister in that fierce, protective Brooklyn way. All of Angie’s gathered family congratulates them easily over dessert, once the children are ushered out of the room. Their wives and Angie’s mother fill up the rest of the evening with talk about nausea remedies and swelling and midwife recommendations.

“Shouldn’t we be having the baby in the hospital?” Peggy remembers some article Howard had mentioned, about the success rate of physician assisted births in hospitals.

“If you want,” Lola chimes in from down the table. She’s blond and thick-set, the best cook at the table after Angie’s ma, and heavily pregnant. “I had all six of mine at home, by the grace of God, this one will be the same way.”

“All four of mine, too,” Maria, sitting directly across from Angie, says with a saintly tone to her voice. Maria is tall and willowy with dark skin and hair and had once been the source of Angie’s misplaced infatuation back before she’d moved out.

“I had to have that Cesarean with Lenny,” Claudia says with a huff, “but this one,” she slides her hand over the slight swell of her stomach, “this one’s comin’ out at home. If its smart and keeps its head down.”

“Ah Claudia, c’mon.” Ennio groans. “Not at the table.”

“Childbirth is natural,” their mother says sternly, “I had all four of you in this house. You! Ennio! You came out _in this room_.”

“Ma, please!” Ennio and Salvatore say in unison, earning gentle slaps from their wives.

“Ma’s right,” Angelo says calmly. He’s always been the biggest in the family, tall and broad and handsome like their father, the same kind of caramel hair as Angie and their mother. After their father’s death ten years earlier, he stepped into the head of house role, and seamlessly took over the operation of the family garage whilst juggling the demands of his own young family. “And for what it’s worth, ladies,” his steady, green-eyed gaze lands on Peggy and Angie, “Lola’s midwife gives a good rate for referrals.”

His face is so serious, like he's telling them their car needs a new engine, that it takes less than a second for Angie to burst into laughter. Soon the whole table dissolves into a chaos of broken chatter, Lola slapping Angelo’s shoulder and chiding him in a soft, loving, wifely way. A baby starts crying from upstairs and Maria rises out of her seat without a word. Angie’s mother serves another slice of cake to Claudia, insisting she needs to eat more for the baby, and then turns to do the same thing to Peggy. Angie feels a flutter in her stomach that makes her want to cry as she watches her mother fuss over Peggy, _her_ Peggy, like she’s just another part of the family.

Because she is, has been for years.

Angie glances towards the stairs, wondering if she can escape to the bathroom for a moment, because it’s all suddenly very overwhelming - the baby, her family, Peggy, dinner, _the baby_.

“Hey Ange,” Lola says suddenly, “you wanna come have a smoke with me? I gotta make sure the kids aren’t killin’ each other out there.”

“Oh do I ever,” Angie’s shoulders slump and she gives Lola the most thankful look in her repertoire.

* * *

“I don’t really smoke,” Angie says sheepishly as she settles down onto the porch steps. “I just needed to get out of there.” It's still light out, the fading sun bathing the scraggly backyard with golden light. A white table cloth flutters on the clothesline and a warm breeze sifts through the tall stalks of the tomato plants in the garden. 

“Can’t blame you,” Lola says after she lowers herself onto the steps next to Angie, “wanna try one?”

“Can I use it practice stage smoking?”

“What’s that?” Lola raises a brow skeptically, fishing a silver lighter out of her purse and a beaten up packet of cigarettes.

“Smoking, but not really, so you don’t mess up your voice but you can still look good on stage.”

“Right,” Lola rolls her eyes and holds the pack out to Angie, “go for it.” Angie plucks a cigarette from the pack and reaches back for the tin ashtray sitting on the deck.

“I remember when you were little,” Lola says, tapping the pack against her palm before plucking a cigarette from it, lifting it to her lips, and lighting the tip. She takes a long drag, her mascara-darkened lashes fluttering at the pleasure before she lets the smoke go in a long sigh. “Remember? Primo ‘n I started going steady and you were, what, two?” Angie just nods, mostly paying attention to her own cigarette as she holds a flame to its tip. “You know he knocked me up before we got hitched, right?”

“Wh-” Angie chokes, inhaling the first puff on accident, and dissolves into a fit of coughing. Lola waits patiently, taking another slow pull of her cigarette, tapping the ash from the cherry into the tray between them with an impassive look on her face. It takes Angie a moment to calm down, but eventually, bleary eyed and with an aching throat, she manages to squeak out “ _what?_ ”

“That’s why it was all rushed. I was in the family way and your ma, bless her soul, dragged your brother up and down the stairs of this house until he agreed to get me a ring.”

“I don’t remember that,” Angie says, taking a shaky, wasteful puff of her cigarette.

“You were barely three. You and Gino, God rest his soul,” she makes a little sign of the cross with her cigarette hand and sighs, “too young to be involved with everything. You were a cute flower girl, though.”

Angie frowns, searching her memory for some string to grab onto. She looks sideways at Lola and remembers, faintly, walking up the aisle at the family church, chucking daisy petals onto the floor. “I had to throw daisy petals.”

“Roses were too expensive,” Lola shrugs, tapping more ash off her cigarette.

“Wait a minute,” Angie frowns, “That was 23 years ago, Lola. Carla’s only 21. How-”

“We lost him,” Lola’s expression shutters and she rests a shaky hand on her stomach, “not even a day old. Lungs failed to expand, or somethin’.” Lola sighs, “Carla was _another_ surprise.”

“I remember when she was born,” Angie says, smiling. “Ma wouldn’t let us come inside, but we could hear you hollerin’ up and down the street.” Angie laughs, the memory as full and real as if it’d just happened. Silence falls after her laughter dies away and Angie focuses on practicing smoking without inhaling, the acrid flavour of the smoke on her tongue making her eyes water just a little.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Angie says, letting go a mouthful of smoke.

“Have you thought about your career?”

“Of course,” Angie rolls her eyes, tapping her cigarette over the ashtray. Lola shakes her head, blond curls bouncing around her face.

“I mean, with the baby. When it comes, are you gonna take time off or… is Peggy?”

“I don’t…” Angie’s face falls and she frowns at her cigarette. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“She’s three months along and you two haven’t figured out what’s gonna happen once the baby comes?”

“I… guess we just put it off,” Angie looks down at her knees like a scolded child.

“Like you put off telling Fiorella?” Angie grimaces and Lola snorts, “God in Heaven, you haven’t changed. How long did you lie to your papa about where you were livin’?”

“Ah c’mon-”

“No no,” Lola waves her hand, smoke and ash trailing in its wake, “there’s always hard stuff in anything good. Maybe the father-”

“The father?”

“There’s gotta be a father!”

“Yeah but he’s not _involved!_  He just… _you know_.”

“Good grief,” Lola shakes her head, “fine. It’s still early. But you two have to talk about this, otherwise you’re SOL when that baby’s born.”

“Okay,” Angie says, sullen.

“Don’t go messin’ around kid,” Lola’s voice is stern, brooking no argument. “Babies are serious.”

“I know, I know. And we’ll figure it out, promise.”

“Good,” Lola exhales a cloud of smoke, her expression still serious. She stubs her cigarette in the ashtray with at least a puff left and fixes Angie with a look. “Angie, things are solid with you and your… lady, right?”

“I-” Angie blinks, nearly choking on another inhale as the gears in her head scramble to catch up with the conversation’s turn, “yeah, of-of course,” the words come out in a billow of smoke, the confusion hanging long after the smoke has floated away.

“I don’t mean to pry, Ange-”

“You, Lola? Never,” Angie laughs a little, but quickly stops when she sees the look on Lola’s face. She puts her cigarette out and turns her full attention on her brother’s wife.

“I know you’re really excited about this baby. I can tell. It’s just… babies don’t fix broken things, okay? Families, marriages... don’t bring a baby into it unless you’re certain.”

“Lola…”

“When Angelo and I lost the baby,” she clears her throat, “he wanted a divorce. He wanted to go back to boxing and I just wanted him to settle down, stay at your papa’s garage. We said a lot of mean things, because we were both so broken up over the loss. We fought, constantly, but then one drunken night,” she shakes her head, mowing over the stunned expression on Angie’s face, “a month later, I found out I was in the family way again and I thought, maybe that’d fix everything. But it just got worse.”

“Oh my god,” Angie’s eyes go big as the memories come flooding back - Lola coming to live with them before Carla was born, little Carla being born _at their house_ , not seeing Angelo for ages, her mother crying on her father’s shoulder, Christmas Eve mass without her oldest brother. Angie covers her mouth to keep the questions from pouring out but Lola just shakes her head some more.

“You remember, huh?” Lola smiles, without a trace of the guarded bitterness that had just been there, “it was okay, eventually. Father Benedict helped, your mama got Primo off the sauce. And things have been great since then. We both messed up, Angie, but not everyone can come back from that, not everyone’s strong enough to survive it.” Lola lightly puts her hand on Angie’s shoulder, fixing her with a serious expression, “you’re my baby sister, Angie, you always have been to me, and I don’t want to see you getting hurt.” She purses her lips, like she’s trying to decide if she should continue, “but I don’t want you to hurt that poor woman in there, either. She’s on a road she can’t get off of, so you’d better make sure you’re on it with her. Understand?”

“Oh,” Angie huffs, “Lola. Like I’d ever even get in this situation if I wasn’t in it for better or for worse. You know me better than that. Movin’ out, actin’. I don’t give up so easy.”

“Hmph,” Lola frowns and reaches for her pack of cigarettes, “I just didn’t want it to go unsaid.”

“Thanks, sis,” Angie says, genuinely, “but I think I’ve actually got a pretty good hang on this one.”

“Oh, please, you Martinellis think you got it so figured out!” All that Brooklyn bluster is back in Lola’s voice as she lights a second cigarette, “want another?”

“Nah,” Angie says with a grin and leans back on her elbows. Lola groans, and the topic of conversation switches to foot rubs, which apparently Angie’s going to be doing a lot of over the next several months.

* * *

It’s dark by the time they’ve left the Martinelli residence. Angie’s mother kisses Peggy’s cheeks, squeezes her arms tightly, and mutters something in her ear before sending them off towards the train station. They link arms on the way, holding each other close enough so their hips bump as they walk. It’s normal, fine, accepted for young, unmarried women to walk together like this, and Angie revels in it, enjoying the brief public intimacy of it all.

Home is blessedly quiet after the chaos of Angie’s childhood home. Sometimes Angie thinks the silence of the place is suffocating, but it’s the home where Peggy loves her, the home where their kid will be born and grow up. Angie kisses Peggy in the foyer, simple and sweet and undemanding, and leads her upstairs, their fingers twined. Their bedroom is where neither of them needs to speak as they get ready for bed. There’s familiarity to everything that both of them find endlessly rewarding, Angie’s hand on Peggy’s back as she moves around her in the bathroom, Peggy’s deft fingers pinning the curls at the back of Angie’s head.

Angie’s the first to bed, but Peggy follows shortly after, wrapping a silk scarf around her pinned up hair. There aren’t any files to review, no new photographs from Russia or France or wherever the long arm of S.H.I.E.L.D. is reaching; it’s just them, which is rare these days. Angie shuts off her bedside light as  Peggy slides into bed and settles onto her left side.

“Oh I almost forgot, what did my mother say?” Angie rolls onto her side, tugging Peggy’s body close so she can rest her hand on the swell of Peggy’s stomach.

“When?”

“On the stoop, what did she whisper to you?”

“Oh,” Peggy covers her mouth with her hand and yawns, “just to eat plenty and take care of her grandchild.”

“Really?” Angie whispers.

“Yeah,” Peggy says softly, not trusting her own voice, “Angie, I never thought-” her voice wavers and Angie tightens her arm around Peggy.

“Neither did I,” Angie shakes her head, “but it’s good, right?”

“It’s better,” Peggy laughs, wetly, and Angie smiles.

“English, are you crying?”

“I’m just feeling… I love you, Angie. I don’t think I say that often enough. But I do, really.”

“I know,” Angie kisses Peggy’s shoulder, right where the bullet scars are. “I love you too, English.”

 


End file.
